


Dress it up and call it love

by KannaOphelia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's legs were just meant for silk hose, Bickering, Codpieces, Fashion & Couture, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Historical References, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sappy Ending, Seduction, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Tudor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-27 21:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20052580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia
Summary: If Aziraphale is going to be carrying out temptations at the young King's Court, he should be properly dressed for it. Crowley is more than willing to help. Unfortunately, he's not all that good at resisting temptation itself, especially when it involves well-turned angelic legs in saracen silk hose.





	1. The Lure of a Well-Turned Calf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romana03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romana03/gifts).

KENT, 1519 CE

"Look, you agreed to do the temptation. I've been exhausting myself running around Italy curing syphilis on your behalf, you can spread some rumours around the English Court for me. Fair's fair."

Crowley took a long draught of wine and examined the clothes on the bed. He was beginning to feel a little in his cups, which was exactly right for the situation.

"I don't see why that requires an entirely new wardrobe," Aziraphale said stubbornly, helping himself to the sugared almonds Crowley had thoughtfully left accessible.

"You're not going to tempt anyone to sin in a _houppelande_ all the way down to your ankles, angel." 

"I wasn't aware that I was going to do any tempting of that kind," Aziraphale said, frostily. "Gossip, you said. _Truthful_ gossip. Besides, it's a very dignified and beautiful garment."

Crowley sighed. Aziraphale's robes were, in fact, exquisite in cut and fabric. They also looked rather like what he'd been wearing for centuries, which he supposed was the point. Aziraphale, once he found something he liked, tended to stick to it. "Just listen to me on this one. People will trust you more if you look less like a priest. You'll look majestic. You've got the figure for it." 

Aziraphale hummed a little under his breath, in a way that suggested he was considering falling to temptation, and Crowley pressed his advantage.

"Look, you'll like Court. Very virtuous and religious woman, the Queen. And Henry is extremely well read and educated, and a talented musician. You'll have so much to talk about. And the entertainments, and the feasts!"

"I'm not sure why you're so insistent on this, dear boy."

Crowley delicately bit his own lip with sharp eye teeth. Aziraphale had started to show a worrying tendency to withdraw into his books and theological treatises and religious debates, rarely coming out. Crowley wasn't seriously concerned that the angel would end up being discorporated for heresy, but there was a very real danger that he would retreat into his studies in a monastery for years. Out of reach. It would be just like him to forget that Crowley could hardly drop in on him for a chat and a few drinks on consecrated ground.

Or perhaps he wouldn't even care, or miss him. Crowley disliked that thought intensely. No, it was time to remind Aziraphale of the pleasures of the world. And there was no better place to do that than in the young King Henry's court.

"Just try them on. You'll like them." Crowley lost patience and clicked his fingers, stripping Aziraphale instantly down to his under tunic and _braies._

"Was that really necessary?" Aziraphale huffed.

"If we weren't going to stand here arguing all day, yes."

"Don't you have servants to do this kind of thing?" Crowley opened his mouth to start to jibe Aziraphale about the inappropriateness of an angel having human servants or slaves, a centuries old source of bickering. Aziraphale was in fact ridiculously indulgent towards his servants, all but apologising for requiring anything of them. They would have robbed him blind if it wasn't that they knew that his sinister friend who always wore black would occasionally slither around and make vague but very pointed threats about what would happen to them and all their families for eternity if they took advantage of that woolly-headed fopdoodle Master Fell. 

Then he snapped his mouth shut with sudden suspicion. He wouldn't put it past the angel to be deliberately provoking the argument in order to get out of having to try on the new clothes, which Crowley had so carefully and meticulously created out of the ether. 

"Servants can't adjust fit as easily as I can," he said instead. He circled Aziraphale slowly, staring at the voluminous folds of fabric tied around his hips and knees, as if his yellow eyes could pierce through them.

"What exactly are you doing?" Aziraphale asked tersely. His cheeks were flushed, but that might have been because Crowley had solicitously made sure the fire was blazing harder to make up for the missing layers of clothing. It was rarely too hot for Crowley. 

"Trying to recall the last time I saw you in the baths. Has to be centuries ago, but I've got a good memory for important details."

Aziraphale flushed deeper. "Crowley!"

"Well, how else am I supposed to fit your codpiece properly?" Crowley asked, aggrieved.

"_Crowley_!"

Crowley decided he had better not push it. "Look, leave your _braies_ on for now and worry about the codpiece later. Let's get your new chemise ready."

The process took quite a while, but it had the desired effect of soothing Aziraphale a little with the softness of fine linen on skin and pleasure of being fussed over. Crowley tied the sleeves around plump arms and then took his time gathering the neckline into dainty folds around the drawstring. Aziraphale really did have a beautiful line from shoulder to neck. Crowley let his fingers linger for a moment on his silky skin.

"Your hands are freezing."

"Sorry. Cold blood."

"It's quite all right," said Aziraphale in an odd tone. "Oddly refreshing." Always so courteous. 

Crowley grinned to himself and moved on to the doublet, cozily quilted, glittering with embroidery and pearls. Pearls suited Aziraphale--he was as lustrous as one, not sparkling or blazing like some of the angels, but perfect in his quiet shimmer. Too perfect, especially at close quarters. Maybe this had been a really, really bad idea. But Crowley was not one to back down just because of a bad idea, or the whole course of his existence would be different. He laced the doublet carefully, trying not to give away that his fingers were trembling a little as they hovered so close to warm angel skin.

"It's so _short,_" Aziraphale lamented.

"That's what the codpiece is for. To preserve your decency."

"Decency!"

Crowley grinned, readjusting the fit of the doublet over the chemise.

"Also, I'm not sure I'm allowed to wear gold embroidery and pearls. Isn't that restricted to the nobility?"

"You're a Principality, angel."

"Well, technically that's just my domain of influence. It's probably more accurate to call me a--" 

"Prince, yeah. That's my point." Crowley smirked. "Look, I have a cover story for you. We'll talk about it later. You can wear all the pretty gold thread you like--I know you love it. Look, let's get your jerkin on. You'll feel more yourself when we reach the over gown."

Aziraphale submitted meekly enough to being handed into the jerkin, pushing his arms obediently through the short sleeves, and then sighed with relief when the heavy fur-lined over gown was added, falling to his knees.

"There," Crowley cooed soothingly. "I told you. Wish you could see yourself properly, angel. You certainly have the figure for this. Magnificent." He ran his hands over the puffed sleeves, the layers and layers of rich fabric, and materialised a fur stole to drape over Aziraphale's shoulders, making the silhouette even broader. The soft pale skin emerging from all that opulence, the halo of platinum curls, the contrast between the aggressively square shape and the softness of velvet, fur and sweet expression... Crowley felt dark and bony and insignificant next to him. That was only right, though. A shadowy demon circling a resplendent angel. Something in him appreciated the aesthetics of the contrast. He stroked the soft civet fur over Aziraphale's shoulder and chest, flickering out a tongue to taste its scent, and under it the scent of Aziraphale, clean air and incense and sun-warmed skin even in winter.

Aziraphale tried not to beam at the compliment. "I do feel a bit unstructured down here." He gestured downwards at his modest, baggy underwear under all the finery.

Crowley smiled slowly and triumphantly. "Nether-hose, trunk hose, codpiece. Your legs will be warmer, and you will look incredibly enticing. The nether-hose are saracen silk," he wheedled. "Think what they will feel like against your skin."

"I have no real wish to look enticing," Aziraphale grumbled, but Crowley was too well attuned to vices not to detect vanity, pride and longing in the sparkle of his eyes. "But I _am_ feeling chilly." 

"There you go," Crowley said cheerfully, reaching for Aziraphale's waist.

Aziraphale caught his hands. "Crowley, what are you doing?"

"Getting rid of those things," said Crowley, suddenly feeling a bit unsteady. Bipedal legs, never could rely on them. Especially with warm, gentle angelic hands clasping around his own cold ones. He laced his fingers through the angel's, almost without being able to stop himself. 

"I am perfectly capable of taking them off myself!" Aziraphale looked down at their entwined hands, and abruptly dropped Crowley's as if he had grasped ice too tightly and cold-burned his skin. 

"Ssorry. Just trying to help," Crowley hissed, losing control of his voice a little. This whole thing had probably been a really bad idea, but he couldn't find it in himself to regret it. Aziraphale blew air out at him in a huffy little puff, and they stood staring at each other, two handspans apart.

"Well?" Aziraphale said at last. 

"What do you mean, well?"

"Are you just going to stand there and watch me?"

"Why not?" Crowley grinned and licked his lips. "Nothing I haven't seen before, angel. If you think I'm going to suddenly be overcome with lust at your manly charms at this late date..." 

Aziraphale glared at him, and Crowley yielded, at least partly because it was becoming all too close to be true. Joking might work for self defence sometimes, but he was beginning to feel a bit raw and exposed himself. He flung himself face down on his bed, hands over the back of his head. "Look, your modest virtue is preserved."

"Very funny, dear," said Aziraphale. "There's no need to be so dramatic about it. I just didn't want you standing staring right up against me."

"Still not looking. Your virtue is still preserved. Now hurry up, or I'll start to feel ridiculous."

"_Start_ to feel ridiculous?" Aziraphale asked mildly. Crowley didn't answer.

Aziraphale sighed, and Crowley could hear the rustle of the _braies_ being removed, and then further rustling. There was a sudden weight on the edge the bed, and he realised at the angel was sitting on it, to pull on his nether-hose. Oh, this was bad. Crowley _did_ have a good memory for details. A lot of them were rushing back right now with inconvenient vividness, as his overactive imagination filled in Aziraphale, naked from the waist down, easing silk hose up sturdy calves with those clever, meticulous fingers, just out of reach. _On Crowley's bed._ Crowley repressed a groan, wondering if he would ever be safely able to roll over again. There was only so much a velvet codpiece could conceal, however padded and bejewelled it was.

Aziraphale finally stood, and there were more rustles. "There. Tied on now. Do stop being an idiot and tell me what you think."

"I can't," Crowley muttered into the counterpane, hoping Aziraphale wouldn't notice how much he was pressing into the bed.

"Don't be absurd, dear boy. You're making me nervous."

A solution occurred to Crowley. He was having trouble with this form anyway. He shuddered and changed, sliding into his snake form, and turned around. Aziraphale stood with his back to him, adjusting--oh Satan, Crowley couldn't see, but he was pretty sure he was unselfconsciously adjusting the fit of his codpiece. Under the sweep of his over gown, thin silk stretched tight over his calves, emphasising the curves. 

The serpent form had been a mistake. There were certain instincts that went with it. 

"Are my hose on straight?" Aziraphale asked innocently.

It was too much to bear. Crowley slid off the bed, across the floor, and very gently sank his fangs into one full calf.

Aziraphale yelped. "Crowley! What was that for?"

"Ssorry. No venom." Crowley touched where he had bitten with his tongue, soothing the skin and healing the pinpricks in the silk. "Couldn't resist. The Almighty knew what she was doing when she made legs like yours, angel."

Crowley poured up the angel, wrapping his tail around his waist under the over gown, pushing his head down over Aziraphale's shoulder and flicking his snake tongue just once against that lovely curve of neck. Then he shimmered back into his favourite form, one arm wrapped around Aziraphale's waist from behind, the other cast over his shoulder and clutching his chest. 

"Crowley, what has got into you?" Aziraphale seemed more flustered than angry

"Could be you," he hissed in Aziraphale's ear.

"That isn't very amusing."

"I've never been more serious." He expelled air slowly onto Aziraphale's neck where it was still damp from his tongue, unsure if he was sighing or hissing. Either way, Aziraphale shuddered. "By everything infernal, looking like that in hose is some kind of a sin. Look at you, angel." He let his hand drift over the padded hips of jerkin and trunk hose, down to a generous thigh in soft silk. "You shouldn't be allowed to walk the Earth as such a temptation."

"You're the one who made me wear this preposterous getup in the first place."

"Not preposterous. Sublime. You're sublime in it." Crowley pressed little kisses against his jaw. "Oh, angel, _please._ I'll forget the whole spreading gossip deal. Just let me have you now instead. Just once. Let me love you, please."

"Where has this come from all of a sudden?" Aziraphale sounded bewildered, but he wasn't pulling away. In fact, Crowley was almost sure he had subtly adjusted his stance, to let the hand stroking his thigh have more access, and was arching his neck for more lingering kisses. 

"Centuries," Crowley mumbled against his skin. "Centuries of you being perfect and unattainable and suddenly now standing in my bedroom looking like t_hat._ Please, my darling. Count it as a virtue, forcing tender feelings from a demon."

"I'm not sure it counts as remotely virtuous," Aziraphale said weakly. "Or that tender feelings is the best description for what you're apparently feeling right now."

"Ah, love. Kiss me, just one kiss, and I'll stop if you don't want more. After all, your body must have needs, and I'm the most moral option you have to relieve them."

"A demon, really? How do you justify that logic?" Aziraphale sounded even weaker.

"Can't take advantage of humans. Risking sin on their immortal souls. But I can't fall any further than I already have. All you could do is teach me the virtues of love. My sweet friend." Crowley was aware he was babbling desperately, aware that he was on the verge of making promises that would have Dagon call him Downstairs for decades as punishment if he knew, and didn't care. Didn't care about anything except for the soft little moan Aziraphale had just made as his tongue gently lathed at the angel's skin.

"If you put it that way, then kissing you is a blessing," Aziraphale said shakily. 

"Balm to a lost soul," Crowley agreed hopefully.

"Just one kiss, then." 

Crowley was so shocked at his unexpected success that his grip loosened. Aziraphale twisted to face him, and his strong arms caught Crowley close, his mouth closing the difference between them. For a moment both their mouths were still, as if frozen in shock that they were finally kissing, and then Aziraphale's lips moved with sudden tenderness against Crowley's, Crowleys' parted with a gasp, and their tongues were touching, and all he could think of was pressing close and pulling Aziraphale's head up to his with both hands as if he could close every difference between them and become one being.

"My dearest Crowley," Aziraphale whispered against his mouth, and they were kissing again, Crowley's legs threatening to give out completely as the kisses took over all his consciousness. Aziraphale seemed to realise, one arm shifting to below Crowley's hips to steady him and incidentally press him closer, one stout thigh pushing between Crowley's to support him and drive him mad. Crowley made a sound that instantly embarrassed him, a sound he couldn't remember ever making with any human lover, and Aziraphale, bless him to Heaven, _chuckled._

"You bastard," Crowley said weakly and then, trying to regain some kind of advantage although he suspected he had already lost, added with an attempt at being sarcastic, "Just _one_ kiss, did you say?" He teasingly pulled his face back as Aziraphale came in for another. 

"Perhaps a few more," Aziraphale said breathlessly, diving more successfully this time. "And shut up," he said against Crowley's mouth. 

Crowley decided it was a good idea to do what he was told and shut up for once.


	2. Together alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this one is basically sex and sappiness. Time to up the rating.

Aziraphale pulled away for a moment, and his face was at its most meltingly tender and concerned. “Are you entirely sure this is what you want, my dear?"

“I’ve never been more sure about anything,” said Crowley, which was at one and the same time completely and utterly true and a lie so terrible that it would have turned his wings black if they hadn’t already been. He was both half-crazed with wanting at the idea of finally being close, and half-crazed with terror at the potential consequences. What if Aziraphale hated it? What if Aziraphale Fell, and hated him as a consequence? What if Aziraphale just flew away afterwards to avoid being tempted again? It had taken five and a half thousand years of patient circling and pushing to reach their present Arrangement, he shouldn’t risk losing it all because Aziraphale was in his bedroom looking unspeakably enticing in silk and velvet.

Or because Aziraphale had kissed him with every sign of willingness, almost as if he’d spent as much time thinking about it over the centuries as Crowley had.

All right. Maybe that was worth losing _anything_ for. He darted his tongue against Aziraphale’s lips, and Aziraphale _moaned_ and leaned in to capture it in a mouth that tasted of sugared almonds, and really what was Crowley expected to do, resist temptation? He was a _demon_. A demon clasped in the arms of an unFallen angel, in his own bedroom. Probably not giving into lust at this point would have upended the entire order of the Universe, so Crowley didn’t need to bear any responsibility for it anyway.

“Please tell me you’re not going to report this back to Hell,” Aziraphale whispered against his lips.

“Never. You’re safe with me.” It came out with more fervent tenderness than Crowley had meant to express, and he coughed, embarrassed. “Not going to risk you being sent back Up There and getting an actual righteous Adversary. Could be a complete pain. What if they were better at coin tosses? I might have to do all my own work for once."

“I suppose it’s within the spirit of the Arrangement."

“Angel, I will do any blessing you ask of me if you kiss me like that again,” Crowley said recklessly.

“Not too many blessings. I don’t want _you_ being recalled.” Aziraphale obliged just as his words sank in, and Crowley’s heart spiralled with sharp triumph. Thousands of years of friendship and this was the first time Aziraphale had verbally expressed wanting him around. Bloody cautious angel… But the arms around him and the mouth pulling at his didn’t feel cautious at all, they felt greedy and demanding. Had he imagined that Aziraphale would be passive and shy as a lover? His angel who was so terribly weak to all the pleasures of this wonderful planet.

Aziraphale slowly slid a hand up Crowley’s thigh, warm, warm skin radiating through the silk hose, and leaned his forehead against the demon’s own.

Aziraphale murmured, “How can I resist? You are so _exquisite_, dear,” and Crowley lost control completely at Aziraphale actually speaking one of Crowley's most well-used fantasies. He flung his arms tight and hard around Aziraphale’s neck, pressing his chest against generous layers of fur and velvet and silk and linen, impossibly rich and soft and under it the softness and endless generosity that was the angel himself, and his hips rocked.

These ridiculous codpieces, they _looked_ provocative enough, but all that padding and embellishment was a problem, he was achingly hard but he could hardly feel a thing through it, and could he do miracles or not? It was gone, and now he could feel the friction of silk against his bare cock and behind it the warm luxuriant flesh of Aziraphale’s thigh, and he made that embarrassing needy sound again.

This time Aziraphale didn’t chuckle, he supported him in his arms and guided his thrusts against him. “That’s right, Crowley,” he whispered. “I have you, my dear, my dearest,” and Crowley fell apart, hissing.

“Oh, your lovely clothes,” he said weakly, once he recalled himself a little. “He waved and fixed them, although some secret part of him was exulting at having made a mess of his sweet beautiful angel, at Aziraphale having let him, _encouraged_ him. He could feel exultation and, behind it a sense of panicky sadness. So much for making things last. This could be his only chance, it was supposed to supply him with fevered memories for at least decades, and he had lost control and gone too fast.

Aziraphale gently steered him to the bed, sat him on it, and sat beside him, arms wrapped tightly around him. “Feeling better?"

Crowley clung, beyond dignity. “I don’t know. I always suspected you would be better at tempting than me if you really let yourself try. I might be out of a job."

“Oh, I don’t know about _that_.” One of Aziraphale’s hands slid down his side, to his waist, pressing the loose folds of the velvet trunk hose in to squeeze a slender hip, fingers drifting to press into a muscular buttock. “You’re quite a maddening temptation, my gorgeous serpent, especially the way you sway these."

“_Oh_,” said Crowley happily, realising things were not over quite yet. “Well, I’m being too modest. I’m actually incredibly good at my job, and part of the job description is graceful provocation.” He tried to casually sprawl his legs open a bit to encourage more exploration. His control over his body, not really complete at the best of times, had apparently almost deserted him, because he managed to sprawl in general instead and collapse against Aziraphale’s side, knocking his jaw against Aziraphale’s chin. “Ow."

“I can tell,” said Aziraphale, laughter caught behind his words, and something else, something hotter that made Crowley’s body blaze again. “Oh, Crowley.” His mouth found Crowley’s mouth and kissed him with a possessive tenderness that made Crowley’s chest hurt.

Crowley let himself fall forwards until Aziraphale was lying back on the bed, Crowley pulled close against his chest, legs tangled together, and the evidence of Aziraphale’s own desire pressed against Crowley’s hip. He pushed himself up on his hands, looking down questioningly down into Aziraphale’s face, which was suddenly very open and vulnerable, blue-green eyes wide.

“It’s just a trivial indulgence,” Aziraphale said, as if trying to reassure himself, and Crowley remembered smiting angels and terrors that Aziraphale might have seen while he was far away. “You do this with humans all the time."

He meant to agree, to reassure, because after all seducing humans was part of the job and a reasonably pleasant and educational part, but what came out of his mouth was “There is _nothing_ trivial about this to me at all, angel.” The rawness of the admission made his voice harsh. “Nothing trivial about _you._"

Aziraphale lifted his mouth and Crowley kissed it adoringly and was lost. “Don’t regret, don’t go. Stay with me, angel, I will make it worthwhile, I will love you so well that you will never want to leave me, you’ll just stay in my arms forever.” He was aware he was babbling again, aware he was saying far too much, but the words were running out of him as if Aziraphale’s kisses had pulled them from the deepest corners of his mind, the things he barely admitted to himself even when he let himself lie in the dark, pretending the hand closed around him was the angel’s hand. “I’ll make you happy, I’ll do anything, just let me have you, let me love you, let me keep you.” He rained kisses on Aziraphale’s face, on the glorious curve of his neck. “My angel, mine."

He was dimly aware that he had promised _just once_ when he was making his initial offer, but Aziraphale wasn’t arguing, his pale lashes were fluttering over his sweet eyes and his skin was flushed rosy and _Satan._ Crowley lost control again and bit his neck.

“You _snake_,” gasped Aziraphale, not sounding displeased at all.

“Ssorry,” said Crowley, and then realised he was making it worse by hissing again, and despite himself started to laugh. He kissed the reddened skin, marked but not broken by his teeth. “It’s not my fault. You shouldn’t be so sinfully delectable.”

He slid downwards in a quick serpentine motion, pushing Aziraphale's trunk hose up, exposing the pale skin at the top of his thighs where the nether hose were tied, on each side of where some extremely strained velvet was holding the angel’s cod and cock in place. Aziraphale parted his legs and pushed upwards, and Crowley could see just the hints of the rich curve of his buttocks beneath, and he wasn’t to be blamed, not at all, for nipping and grating his teeth against soft flesh and sucking at it, his tongue forking and caressing the skin. Aziraphale was right, he was a _snake_.

Aziraphale was muttering something extremely blasphemous, which gave Crowley intense joy as he saved it up for tormenting him with later. “My dear, my dear, _please_."

Part of Crowley wanted to pull back and savour being pleaded with. Lust and curiosity won out. He loosened the ties of the codpiece with trembling hands, and oh, Aziraphale had never looked like _this_ in the baths, thick and flushed dark with blood and beaded with desire. Such a beautiful, perfect form, it would have been wasted on an ascetic angel less inclined to physical pleasures. Crowley painted the sight on his mind.

“Crowley, please, please. I can’t wait any longer…” Always so innocently eager for pleasure.

“Anything you want, love. _Anything_.” He leaned forward and engulfed Aziraphale in his mouth.

The resulting cry went straight through Crowley’s soul. Aziraphale, his Aziraphale was crying out like that because of him, and his mouth was wrapped around Aziraphale’s cock, his forked tongue working against silken hardness, the taste of Aziraphale’s arousal in his mouth as he sucked. He would never have to imagine again, never have to piece it together from his memories of humans and frantic imaginings of Aziraphale. Even if this never happened again he could _remember_, and know for sure the sounds Aziraphale made, the desperate cries and muttered endearments and the hands tangling in his hair, pulling so hard it hurt, then caressing as if in compunction, then pulling again as if attempting control was too much. All this uncontrolled passion for him, a mere demon allowed to love a shining angel.

“Wait—wait. Stop a bit.”

It took all of Crowley’s self control, but he pulled back, looked questioningly up at Aziraphale, who was looking completely undone, the rich fabrics still making his torso square, his legs outlined in fragile silk and his erection bare. The contrast between the elegant top and the wanton lower body was intoxicating.

Aziraphale took some long, shuddering breaths. “You said, you said I could be in you,” he stammered, suddenly looking desperately shy. “Did you mean it?"

“_Angel_,” Crowley said. He plunged upwards to kiss him, tongue pressing into his mouth, then slid off, pulling his knees eager up under himself, sending his trunk hose to join his codpiece in the ether.

“No—you look beautiful, you look incredible,” Aziraphale said, hands sliding possessively and caressingly over his buttocks, “but face me. I need to kiss you."

“Angel,” Crowley said again, but this time his voice was shaking so hard he could barely say the name. He rolled over and tucked his knees against his shoulders, glad for his inhuman litheness, taking delight in being obscenely exposed in his desire and readiness. “Come and kiss me, then."

“You superb creature, is this real? How can you want me so desperately?” said Aziraphale, his voice wondering, and moved between his thighs, hovering over him, his normally pale eyes dark with emotion.

“You’re _everything_,” Crowley said fiercely, something he had vowed never to admit, never to give the angel such an advantage, and not caring at all. “Fuck me."

And this was an advantage of being with his own kind, not having to worry about needing a plausible reason to be slick and ready, just make it that way with a thought as a thick heavy cock pressed him open and apart and adoring kisses were pressed on his mouth. He just had to open as far as he could, welcome the pressure and pain and cling to a broad back and return the kisses and _adore_. He angled his hips to encourage Aziraphale to find just the right angle, just the right place, as if being stretched so perfectly like that wasn’t already enough to break him to pieces, and Aziraphale’s hand wrapped around him and it was too much again already as he spilled.

“Oh Crowley, oh Crowley _darling_.” Aziraphale kissed his mouth and cheek and jaw and neck and ears, his movements already becoming ragged, and it was the most amazing thing in the world and obviously not going to last much longer.

Crowley bunched his hands in the rich fabric of Aziraphale’s jerkin. “I’m yours, I’m here. Give yourself over to me, angel."

Aziraphale shuddered and cried out and let himself go, and Crowley wrapped his legs tight around him and crushed him close. They lay closely locked together, and wonderful though the fur and velvet felt, Crowley banished both their clothes so he could snuggle against soft warm skin. He could always make new clothes for Aziraphale. It would be _fun._

“Your skin doesn't feel so cool anymore.” Aziraphale traced a caressing hand down his side.

“That’s because I’ve been leaching your heat,” Crowley said smugly.

Aziraphale gave him a fond smile. “My pleasure. Always ready to do a good deed. But I don’t want you to get cold, my dear cold-blooded boy. You’ll catch your death." He rearranged them, pulling some furs Crowley was almost certain weren’t there a few minutes before over him and settling him into his arms.

“If _you_ didn’t discorporate me, I don’t suppose a cool breeze would do the job,” Crowley admitted, cuddling close under the furs, feeling drowsiness beginning to creep up.

“I suppose that’s a compliment."

“Oh, it is.” He closed his eyes, feeling Aziraphale’s hand drift gently up and down his spine. “Don’t let it go to your head."

“Crowley, I—the Arrangement—"

“Nothing’s changed,” Crowley said firmly.

“How can it not have?"

“Nothing’s changed. Virtue, vice. It balances out. We’re fine.” He noticed his fingers were digging deeply into Aziraphale’s waist and relaxed his grip a little, hoping he hadn't bruised him oo badly. “You haven’t Fallen, I’m certainly not an angel again. We keep the balance."

“Crowley—"

“Stay with me."

“If anyone finds out—"

“Stay. My servants already suspect I’m an unChristian fiend with a contract with the Devil. Had to institute strict rules in case they burned or discorporated me accidentally, you see. They are far too terrified of me to report us for sodomy. They know that if they thwart me, my mere imprisonment or death will not stop my vengeance raining down on their heads."

“That’s very unkind to your humans. And not what I meant at all."

“I know. I don’t care. Be with me.” He kissed Aziraphale’s rounded shoulder.

“I suppose,” Aziraphale said eventually, “This is my fault. I should never have let a demon strike up a conversation with me in the first place."

Crowley grinned against his shoulder. “Always too polite for your own good."

“Well, you looked worried and lonely."

“_And_ too compassionate to follow rules.” He rubbed his face against him. “Well, you don’t want me to be lonely now, do you? Or—to be lonely yourself?"

“How could I be lonely with you around?” The words rushed out as if Aziraphale had no control over them. “It’s not like you ever leave me alone long enough. You frustrating, wicked, _dear_ demon."

“S’right,” Crowley said contentedly. "You have no choice in the matter, really. And you really will enjoy Court, it’s right up your decadent alley. And the fashion. I have such plans for you, angel. You will dazzle them all. And I will bask in your reflected glory.” His breathing slowed as his mind drifted into daydreams.

“Crowley, are you going to sleep?"

“Well recognised, clever angel,” he muttered.

“_Why_?"

“Feels nice. A pleasure of the world. You should try it, you like worldly pleasures.” Crowley smiled sleepily and smugly. “As you’ve just demonstrated."

Aziraphale sighed as if irritated, somehow managing to gather him even closer into his arms at the same time. “I suppose I can meditate until you’re done. Do some silent intellectual exploration of new theological problems that are arising."

“Always admired your dedication to duty. Doing good works even naked in bed with a demon after a bout of fornication. Deserve—deserve a commendation. Should tell Gabriel in your next report.” He yawned. “Goodnight, Aziraphale."

He was nearly asleep when he felt a kiss on his forehead and heard a whispered, “Love you, my dear serpent."

Who needed Heaven, anyway? It had never felt as marvellous as this. “I love you too, sweetest angel,” Crowley breathed, just quietly enough to allow for plausible deniability. He was sure Aziraphale heard and understood anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Song title is still Tammy Wynette, even though the song is basically completely the wrong mood for this fic, yay?
> 
> 2) Soft snake boy.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Hey, look at me, I can still write things that aren't 12+ chapters of slow burn.
> 
> 2) No real excuse for this one, except that a throw away line about Aziraphale's legs being made for hose in "Falling Heavenwards" got stuck in my head and I ended up spending two hours looking at and reading about early 16th century men's fashion. I had to at least start on this in order to work on the next chapter. Don't worry, if you're following that one, I'm straight back into it.
> 
> 3) Title from Tammy Wynette's "They Call It Making Love"


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